Tag Archives: Writing

Poetry, Writing

I am that mother

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(Poem 326 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/dOImw2

I didn’t think I was that mother,
the one who cleans and cooks,
looks out the window every time
a car drives by or a tree branch
bends in a way that catches her eye
and repeatedly checks her phone
for updates on her son’s progress
since he’s driving cross country
heading south with her daughter-
in-law for their wedding ceremony
here in a Texan outdoor cathedral,
but apparently, I am that mother.

@Home Studio – 326th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Mother photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Remembering the LA Riots

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(Poem 325 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

https://images.app.goo.gl/ad5vYumSHMCCicpc8 https://images.app.goo.gl/2MqN2W9yJKyW7V76A

When the weight of oppression
and unbridled greed finally breaks
the backs of the camels of justice
the eruption of violence is a given.

What remains to be seen amidst
the mayhem and mortal carnage
is the expression of accountability
or even a hint of sympathetic remorse.

The powerful claim rule of order
a necessity to quell social unrest
and do nothing to address the underlying
rot at the base of the structure they built.

And the system continues to sink
into the sands of time burying
generations of hopefuls with the burden
of change and the whip of their bootstraps.

Rebekah Marshall @Home Studio on 11/22/24 @ 9:53pm – 325th poem of the year (While watching S.W.A.T. Season 4 Episode 1 Seventeen Year Olds that showed flashbacks to the Rodney King verdict of 1991 and the LA Riots of 1992. I was in college and remember the news coverage vividly.)

Poetry, Writing

Rock Climbing?

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(Poem 324 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/DjFo1A

AI is unsure why a woman
would attempt to climb
the side of a cliff,
but best efforts to produce
an image result in
laughable camera poses
much more leaning back
toward the chasm than anyone
would be comfortable with
hands in the air all willy-nilly
instead of clinging to protrusions
like her life depends on it
just hanging out in the air
without a care in the world
maybe she’ll get to the top
maybe not, who knows?

@Home Studio – 324th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Rock Climbing photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Libraries Still Exist

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(Poem 323 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/RQmMeJ

I was startled to discover
that libraries still exist
in this dystopian society
I’m learning to call home.

You might as well have
told me there are sunken
libraries for school of fish
to study up on plankton.

Or declare that libraries
have been installed in every
greenhouse to better teach
plants how to grow greener.

That people have a safe
place to read books for free
gives my heart hope
that all is not lost.

@Home Studio – 323rd poem of the year

Runner ups for the Libraries photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Friendsgiving

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(Poem 322 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Photographs taken by Rebekah J. Marshall 11/17/24.

Friends gathered
around a table
sharing a meal
giving thanks for each other
and the chance to be together.
Laughter and stories
between bites
of chicken fried steak,
fried catfish, fried okra,
rosemary chicken Greek salad,
mashed potatoes,
mac & cheese, Caribbean rice,
candied yams, black-eyed peas,
and buttermilk pie.
Austin-style Southern cooking
is perfect for my first
ever Friendsgiving.

@Home Studio – 322nd poem of the year poem of the year (After lunch with Debbie, Celinda, Yulia, Jenni, and Paula.)

Runner ups for the Friendsgiving photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Tracker

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(Poem 321 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

https://images.app.goo.gl/XbwtxjNvg4LAak628

He calls
himself a rewardist
because everyone’s looking
for something,
and he knows
how to find
what’s missing.
Survival may be predicated
on who needs whom
the least,
but lone wolf strategies
are mythical,
aberrant, peculiar,
resulting in attachment
deficits.
Follow the signs,
recognize the strides,
read the scuff marks
and toe digs,
transfers and heel marks,
ignore false trails
and counter-tracking.
The desperate pleas
of loved ones offering reward
must believe
the ache of hope,
fear and adrenaline
will keep the living alive
long enough for the bruising
and crying to tell a story
that leads
to being found.

@Home Studio – 321st poem of the year (Watching the show Tracker on CBS.)

Winters, Ben, Tracker, Justin Hartley, Beekeeper Entertainment, 2024.

Poetry, Writing

Becoming Supernatural

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(Poem 320 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/HkITfM

To become supernatural
one must eat oranges
and play with kaleidoscopes,
listen to the blood pumping
through moving veins
and feel the pulse
in tips of toes.

If the past tries to creep
like a lingering rumor
up the brain stem,
one must unscrew
the scalp and release
the humors
to the heavens and beyond.

When the future
feels like a memory
of a once-forgotten story
told right now,
someone has reached
the pinnacle,
or started over.

Either way,
the electricity that hums
from an unknown source
downloads
unknowable truths
into highways of blood
and bone.

@Home Studio – 320th poem of the year (While reading Becoming Supernatural by Dr. Joe Dispenza.)

Dispenza, Dr. Joe, Becoming Supernatural, Hay House, 2017.

Runner ups for the Supernatural photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Robot Weekend

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(Poem 319 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/BPRjLv

Robots, when given the day off
prefer to go camping to rest.
They set up little campsites outside
doing things nobody would have guessed.

They roast marshmallows and sip cocoa,
tell campfire stories and wish upon stars.
They keep a look out for little robot fairies
who supposedly come down from Mars.

Robots know how to have a good time
when their work for the week is done.
Without humans to serve on the weekend
nature is where they like to have fun.

They take in the sights and smells
and sleep out under the trees.
And when they return to work on Monday,
humans are a bit easier to please.

@Home Studio – 319th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Robot photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Baby Blue VW Bug

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(Poem 318 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/BnWQoH

My dream car
was a 1971 Baby Blue
Volkswagen Beetle
with the engine in the back
and a bonnet for storage.
A Canadian guy named Dana
introduced me to his car
and I fell in love—
with the car,
not Dana.
Although, Dana was cute,
reminiscent of Bill
from Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure,
but was much too old
for me to have a crush
on because I was maybe twelve.
That handsome car,
however,
was a respectable fourteen,
and I was smitten.
I begged my father
to let me have one
when I turned sixteen,
but he broke my heart
and declared bugs
deathtraps,
forbidding me from ever
even riding in one.
My cousin,
the son of my father’s twin brother,
blood of my blood,
he got a bug,
my love forever unrequited.

@Home Studio – 318th poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

My Friend, The Moon

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(Poem 317 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/B3r0D9

My friend, the moon,
gets lonely sometimes.
He’ll wait for me in a rather
melancholy state,
just hanging around
hoping to connect.
I know I need to make
more time to visit
with him, like I used to,
but I get busy
and life gets in the way.
He probably feels
taken for granted,
though that is far from true.
I will never forget
his steadfast friendship,
nor replace him in my heart.
He knows my secrets,
where the bodies are buried,
and is the guardian of my shadow.

@Home Studio on 11/15/24 @ 6:07pm – 317th poem of the year